Thoughts
by Kimra
Summary: [COMPLETE] This is my attempt at rationalizing the darkening of thoughts and the breaking of hope.


This is something I wrote out of the blue. Mostly because of the malcontent I felt at the ease with which Anakin (shesh I can't even spell his name) turned to the dark side. I thought it could be expressed beter… and no I'm not claiming that skill, just the want to attempt.

Hope someone enjoys this in some way.

Kimra

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His fingers closed over air, where there should have been life, his eyes clouded as he stared at what had been and realised what he had done. But it was only memory, sharp and cutting in his mind.

He had destroyed, killed, mutilated, all that was sacred to his very soul in a foolish moment of anger and selfishness. How could she betray him when she had given everything for him? How could someone so pure and idealistic believe anyone, even he, was beyond the reach of salvation?

His soul was tearing, just as he had given it to her, he had killed it in her. His eyes dry, scared, never to break as they had so often before, even if he had been capable of tears.

He had felt her heart beat, felt it desperately grasping for life even as it gave part of itself away as broken. He had felt that heart beat and let it go, dropped it where it was because he knew that no matter how far he went he couldn't take that last beat, couldn't break that last piece.

But she was dead, and he had let it happen, had forced his visions into reality by destroying the possibility of hope.

He had destroyed hope. It was sad, it was poetic. He, the chosen one, and he had chosen to destroy hope.

She had taken it with her, of course, taken the life they had created together. Life that had terrified and thrilled him all at once. She had been his with it there, for those few short months and no one could have denied it, because although law bound them, law kept them apart, but the child in her womb, it was the very sign that she belonged entirely to him in a way she couldn't to anyone else.

And he'd killed it, all of it.

Around him the world was breaking with the last pieces of his heart. He deserved the darkness, deserved the blackness that he had created. Taking the lives of the young, taking the lives of the old, the weaker, the stronger. Those with the courage to stand for what they believed in.

What did he believe in? He had never really stopped to ask that. He had been so full of dream's, of ideals and now what lay before him? A ruin of destruction. Sworn to the service of a man of deceit and lies.

He deserved this. What was left of him, what his master, his brother and help him, his father, hadn't destroyed of him.

He wanted to hate him, wanted to hate the very being of his master but couldn't even do that, because he was weak, afraid. He'd never thought of himself as afraid before, but there it was, fear. Broken, lost and forgotten. Nothing left, no one to know him but a man he despised.

Was hatred part of it?

He never did understand the ideology they preached. So concerned about the way a mind could go they never explained what drove a man to the darkness, to the empty solace of emotion and pain. They had never told him what he could become, just what he was supposed to be. And he had never thought about it, what he could be, what he would be. Always looking to the future, what he dreamed he would be.

Powerful, strong, invincible. He shouldn't have made mistakes. Was that the curse of being the chosen one? Expecting so much of oneself that it could never be achieved.

It was their fault. They should have told him, explained it. He would have listened, maybe. No, he wouldn't have. That was the greatest hate. He hated himself. He would never be what he should, he could never be, and a moment of weakness, a feeling of desperation and he had thrown himself at the only person offering a hope, a chance, deliverance.

But he had killed it all with her. Destroyed it all without even moving, that was how powerful he had become. So powerful he could destroy. So weak he couldn't save.

And now he was nothing. The remnants of the world he had helped tear apart, the remnants of the world he had wanted to protect. The last remains, the epitome of everything she had hated, everything she had fought against. But it was too late to back away now. Too late to save or protect. Besides, what was there left to save? He didn't deserve saving, he deserved what had happened, what had become and what was left but to follow his path, his destiny until he too faded away?

Weak. Dead. Heartless, and it was the end. The end of him. The end of hope.


End file.
